Longing

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 144 of 170 · 20 per page

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  There was a letter waiting for her in my mailbox when we got home; it was from a German law student she said she’d been seeing. The letter was voluminous, at least seven pages long, and as I prepared dinner, she sat at the kitchen table and laughed and sighed and clicked her tongue, her face suddenly soft and wistful. “I thought you didn’t like Germans,” I said. She rubbed her eyes and laughed. “Yah—Otto is different. He’s so sweet! And sometimes I treat him so badly! I don’t know, Barack. Sometimes I think it’s just impossible for me to trust anybody completely. I think of what the Old Man made of his life, and the idea of marriage gives me, how do you say … the shivers. Also, with Otto and his career, we would have to live in Germany, you see. I start imagining what it would be like for me, living my entire life as a foreigner, and I don’t think I could take it.” She folded her letter and put it back in the envelope. “What about you, Barack?” she asked. “Do you have these problems, or is it just your sister who’s so confused?” “I think I know what you’re feeling.” “Tell me.” I went to the refrigerator and pulled out two green peppers, setting them on the cutting board. “Well … there was a woman in New York that I loved. She was white. She had dark hair, and specks of green in her eyes. Her voice sounded like a wind chime. We saw each other for almost a year. On the weekends, mostly. Sometimes in her apartment, sometimes in mine. You know how you can fall into your own private world? Just two people, hidden and warm. Your own language. Your own customs. That’s how it was.

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  Tif mW n.f. darkness Aue עשה שחַר‎ Am 45; MMBY PIN Tb 10” )66'" ; || M23). tu. MEY npr. 1. gent. ‘son’ of Midian Gn 5 ‘(J\= 1 Ch 1% ef. Is60°, G ragep, Lepan, Yacpa(p). 2. m. name in Judah 1 Ch 2% ,G Tada. 38. £. concubine of Caleb 1 Ch 2, G Tacpana, A Tada 7, GL Tada. n.[{m.] gloom ;—Is 8%‏ מוּעף1 Is‏ מעוף צוּקה id.;—cstr.‏ [.מנ). [מַעוּף]1 . מוּעף Che ** rds.‏ ; (ְהַשבָה ||( 8% Tropa n.f. id.;—so rd. prob, for navn Jb ae (opp. p23). Qr n.pr.m. a Netophathite,‏ עיפי Kt,‏ עופי1 Je 40% 6( lade, 02006 Oder.‏ TL WY] vb. counsel, plan (Aram. id. ; || form of (יעץ‎ ;—only Qal Imv. ‘mpl. ay Ju 19% (GFM rds. T¥Y, but v. Bu), Is 8" ace. cogn. ל‎ nyy, Sta: sitet oe ae der. Wy fr. re) n.pr. 1. m. a. (eldest) ‘son’ of‏ עוץך 01% ז Aram Gn 10% (P), = ‘son’ of Shem‏ b. eldest ‘son’ of Nahor‏ _ .6טס Qs, GLCh‏ 60 Gn 227 (J), AXE, GL 00. | 6. Edomite name‏ 1Ch 1”, G Qs, GL Ovs. 2. loc.‏ ו Gun‏ "2 16 מבי b, poss. also c), WYO PIS‏ ,8 .1=( (home of Job), 6‏ יז Jb‏ בַּטָרֶץ-עוּץ (G vas‏ G cf. Bu and reff.) ;‏ עלץ Avowns; La 4” (del.‏ on Uz as vague name for E. country v. esp.‏ im Hanran, ori Ne‏ בסנ Bu"; (Dp P+ 2 2k8‏ (NE.) therefrom, = As. Ussu, but dub. With‏ name 13 RS*™ cp. Ar. n.pr. div. (252, 0‏ We Belt: 26" seainst this NO 29 C182) butiy,‏ reply RS 8",‏ Tyay n.pr.m. Benjamite name 1 Ch 8%‏ G Ides, A leous, GL Teas.‏ t[pw ] vb. dub. (if correct, Aram. 0 (cf. ns ax) for צלק‎ press, so Thes al.);—only Hiph. Jmpf. 3 fs. OYA Am 2'% Pt. PYDv™*; but read prob. מפיק , תֶּפוּק‎ totter, cause tottering Hi We Now Dr. n.f. pressure (si vera 1., Aram.‏ [עקה]1 מִפָנִי 2 word, YNAPY, Syr. JXas); —only‏ ga! because of the pressure of the‏ ץ עקת רְשָע 734 | Mass. (v. Baer”’*’), so Ginsb™* van d. H.; עור wicked ; ae צעקת‎ (|| dip ; Ol al.), which mean ery for he ral n.f. compression, distress vera l., Aram. word, = מ' בְּמְתְנִינו--; (מִצוּקָה‎ ADI ץצ‎ 661%, 6( rivers, B tribulationes ; but word dit + [VV] vb. Pi. make blind, blind (orig

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  משכת 2 קר (E) when the ram(’s horn) sounds,‏ 19 bain Jos 6° (JE). 5. draw out, prolong,‏ continue, PYTP TIO TW + 36" prolong, cor‏ tinue thy kindness to them that know thee:‏ ) ו בְתִּיךְ (so poss. Ton‏ א אַלִיְהִי yw sb‏ חֶסָר I have prolonged kindness to "thee,‏ 1615 Ryle Ne 9"; 81. as 1 supr.); ef. DY py om‏ FBS “Bh‏ לדר ור Ne 9” (7M omitted);‏ רבות Tb 8‏ מ" אבּירִים bid); inda‏ פָּאָנף 92;[( 85° 1.e. he (God) prolongeth the life of the migh‏ (Du draggeth them off, as y 28° 1 supr..—‏ for “AN, with G Bi); cf.‏ אבְדִים reading also‏ Niph. 6. trail seed (draw along in sowing)‏ J) infr.) ;‏ .61 ; דרף עְנָבִים Am 9" (opp.‏ מ" 3[ (late) cheer 0 attract, gratify)‏ ‘vans Ec 2%---80 De (who cites NH, Chag™*)‏ JD Ho 7? is diffier‏ יָדוּ Now Wild. _oyyd-ny‏ AV RV he stretcheth out his hand pith,‏ 6 maketh common cause with, is hardly poi‏ text prob. corrupt We Now. Niph. J;‏ mpl. 3309 ND Is 13” they shall not be p‏ 3 Eau‏ לא תש longed (days of Babylon);‏ it shall not be postponed. Pu. Pt. k‏ drawn out: 7 Is 18?" of persons, = tall;‏ nonin Pr 13” hope postponed, deferrec‏ מִמַשָכָה מע n.[m.] a drawing,‏ [ משף] .1+ Wwe Jb2‏ חַכָמָה מִפָּנִינִים up, a trail ;—1. estr.‏ the drawing up (fishing up, i.e. securing aff‏ effort) of wisdom is beyond corals. 2. 68‏ a trail (of seed), Y129 2) 126° bearing fi‏ trail of seed ; cf. YD 6.‏ Bia) n.pr.gent. the Moschi )6[‏ .צנ : *[כ1 Mocyo, v. infr.; As. Musku, Muski,‏ q‏ ןגד משך Schr COT Gn 10, 2; 0 cf. Sab.‏ הל ‘son’ of Japheth Gn 10? (P), between‏ "ץ prob. err.‏ ,משך and DYA, = 1 Ch 1°; also,‏ 77P; here without 22M);‏ ||( 120° ו משף ; (מש (v.‏ Ez 247% 61. 32” 38? (both + 22h); so alse‏ תבל “os‏ Is 66% (Lo Sta*™"° Du Che**; vy. sup.‏ 60 aw aia Ez 38° 3‏ ראש מ' yw 2); 2am)‏ —On identif.‏ .מוש(י )ך Mogox (Meoox), Sam.‏ (6 cf. Boch.; in Assyr. times they dwelt in W.‏ (or NW.) Armenia (cf. Schr’); in Pers. time‏ appar. farther NE. (SE. of Euxine Sea), ef Mooyxot kat TiBapnvo. Herod™ 7: also Di Gn 2 and Che E2°v¢l- Bib. Art, Geogr. Biblical), T[n2w] n.f. cord ;—only pl. estr. . ba Tb 38% the cords of Orion, i.e. prob. those by which (acc. to some legend) he is dragged along in the sky (cf. Di). ? משכב שב v.‏ מִשַכָּן | .שכב Bawa v.‏ |: ben n.pr.loc. +. NWP.

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  vb. long (for) (Ar. 3‏ [כסף]+ colourless, obscure, be eclipsed (of sun or moon) ;‏ also be depressed in appearance 128 757%: mod.‏ Ar. disappoint; refl. conjj. be disappointed,‏ Hiph. shew‏ כסף ashamed, v. Spiro ¥°*-; NH‏ pallor, be pale, white; Qal be ashamed, long‏ for, cf. Aram. 1D3)—Qal Impf. 2 ms. MyDS‏ PT Jb14” for the work of thy hands‏ תִּכְכְף MS‏ יכְסוף קטרף thow wouldest long; 3 ms.‏ כסף house; Pf, 3 fs. לְחַצְרות‎ WEI... BOD y 84! my . 107087. . . for the courts of ; Pf.3 ms. ADD) לא‎ sing Zp 2! very dub.; but patton (Ges Ew Hi Ke al.), O nation 0 turning = 206, = not ashamed, cf. etym. supr.; We thinks whole Vis ו‎

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I said, Oh yes, I should like that very much, and she nodded with something like satisfaction. Then she made me another little bow, and we said good-night; and she closed the door and was gone.I stood quite still, facing the little 7, the hand-written card, Miss Kitty Butler. I found myself unable to move from in front of it - quite as unable as if I really were a mermaid and had no legs to walk on, but a tail. I blinked. I had been sweating, and the sweat, and the smoke of her cigarette, had worked upon the castor oil on my lashes to make my eye-lids very sore. I put my hand to them - the hand that she had kissed; then I held my fingers to my nose and smelled through the linen what she had smelled, and blushed again.In the dressing-room all was silent. Then at last, very low, came the sound of her voice. She was singing again the song about the oyster-girl and the basket. But the song came rather fitfully now, and I realised of course that as she was singing she was stooping to unlace her boots, and straightening to shrug her braces off, and perhaps kicking free her trousers ...All this; and there was only the thickness of one slender door between her body and my own smarting eyes!It was that thought which made me find my legs at last, and leave her. Watching Miss Butler perform upon the stage after having spoken to her, and been smiled at by her, and had her lips upon my hand, was a strange experience, at once more and less thrilling than it had been before. Her lovely voice, her elegance, her swagger: I felt I had been given a kind of secret share in them, and pinked complacently every time the crowd roared their welcome or called her back on to the stage for an encore. She threw me no more roses; these all went, as before, to the pretty girls in the stalls. But I know she saw me in my box, for I felt her eyes upon me, sometimes, as she sang; and always, when she left the stage, there was that sweep of her hat for the hall, and a nod, or a wink, or the ghost of a smile, just for me.But if I was complacent, I was also dissatisfied. I had seen beyond the powder and the strut; it was terribly hard to have to sit with common audiences as she sang, and have no more of her than they. I burned to visit her again - yet also feared to. She had invited me, but she hadn’t named a time; and I, in those days, was terribly anxious and shy.

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  בקש adverb. use in‏ ;27 28 20“ ;‘5 ₪ ד 22“ nine‏ this sense (without prep. or art.) Ex16’ Nu 16’.‏ n.£.verbal. a seeking, ny MPI‏ ]7173[ 1 iN1y Ez 34” like a shepherd's seeking his flock. Tnpa n.f. punishment after examination (inquisition) Ly 19”; (scourging B AV after Jewish trad. Kerith'* Sifra Saad. AE Ki 01. Malbim*"* Jastrow 21% ( Vb. seek (Ph. wp3)—Pi. Pf‏ ג [|בקש]1 wPaDt13" + 15t.; WPAHc7™ Est 2”; sf. pnvipa‏ Ct 3° cf. 59; WPS Hzr2™+ 12 t.;‏ בקשתיו ;2° Ho‏ sf. '2¥P2 Is65!+4 2 %.; Impf. UP2 Jos 22% +‏ pr22°4 3t.;‏ אבקשה “UPD? Pri5+ 2 t.;‏ ;.+ 37 t.;‏ 23 +67 18 ְבַקָשוּ ;6 7 +*23 18 ְבַקְשָהוּ sf.‏ Wpa 1S 287 +‏ ;3% + 9% ₪ 1 בק Imv.‏ Pt. WPI Gn 37"‏ ;29% + סז §1 Inf. wpa?‏ -1---.%6 38 + 07ז 18% מִבקְשִים pl.‏ .5 23 + to find: a. abs. Ju 6% 2K 2” 76 = Ez 34° Ee 3°‏ (yet'v. Ew). b. 806. Gn 37*8 Jos 2” (J)‏ 87 Ju 42 14' 1S 93 104116 1 § 234 243 26?‏ obj. a flea, but rd. YD] ₪ Th We‏ 26% 24°44 a Keene‏ ד ד .28 Kirkp Klo Dr;‏ וט 1Ch 4” 2 Ch 22° zr 2 (= New)‏ ו 6 Seat II oi Pr 24 2 5% 208 qe‏ Je 274.83 La yil Hz bbe 22° 7 Ho 20 Na a‏ d. ace. rei‏ *סז 10 2 Ze 11° Mal 2”. ¢. with‏ K 1? Ru3! Est 2?‏ ד 287 "1813 pers. Jur8!‏ > y122°Is 40% Lar’ Na3%. 2. seek to secure:‏ a. acc. the priesthood Nu 16” (P); David for‏ king 283”; in battle 28 87 (21 Ch 14°);‏ seek to take one’s‏ בקש נפש y27' Je 45° (cf. v°);‏ a ee‏ ב כ רס 22525 )20 כ ב life Ex 4" (J)‏ BGs 38" 40” 54° 63” 70° 86" Pr 20%‏ ש I K EO‏ 4am BIC gore 46% 49°.‏ 2 227 !21 ד וך 1 Je‏ seek hurt of Nu35%‏ בקש רעה b. aim at, practise:‏ ב' בזןב ;97 (P)r8 2.41 25% (DN) 1K 20 718 Est‏ eee)‏ הצ Pray?‏ שבר cf. Pray,‏ 45 שי % ש שלום **2 May Zp‏ ,צדק ,}5 Je‏ אמונה ,™2 Ne‏ Dn 8", nyt Pr15* 18",‏ בינה ,7% Pr 14° Ec‏ חכמה of dir.‏ ל !18 תאוה ,17° Pr‏ אהבה ,2 Mal‏ תורה Inf. Ex 4* (J) Je 26.‏ .6 ."ל Ec‏ חשבנות obj.),‏ )סד 2° d. & Inf. Gn 43° Ex‏ eles‏ הש ”20 ₪ 2 23° "19° 144 18 He 12° 200 3. seck‏ 30 657 25 2 the face a. of rulers 1 K 10% )=2 Ch 9”) Pr‏ b. of God (from resorting to sacred‏ .29° places) Ho 5° 1 Ch 16" (= 105) 2 Ch 7™*‏ Dt 4”‏ יהוה .0 32‘ without‏ ;27°8 24° ץ '21 0 2 Zp 1° 2° Ho 3°5° Ex 337(J) 1 Ch 16” (=wW105")‏ אלהים ;50% Ch 116204 18 811 Pr 28° Zc 8"! Je‏ 2 ro 2ef. Hz 8" Is 4565) Ch 15° Hoy‏ 28 Dn 93; 735‏ 697 70° 40% ש !3 Je 29% Mal‏

• From A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (BDB) (1907)

  2 ₪ 11% 2K 4”; notably ילד שלח‎ 2K 3' and he went and sent. ¢. following other verbs : ויקמג וילבו‎ Gn 22 (E) 61.24" (J) 43° (J) טא‎ 16" (JE) Ju 4% 7222 TYI-Gn 33" )1(. d. esp. as result of action expr. in preced, vb., such as vb. of sending, etc.: וישלח אֶתדאֶחָיו וללכו‎ Gn 45 (E) ef. Jos1° (D) 1 86* Jb38®; also OD WNW 329 24” an east wind shall carry him off, and he shall depart ; ויגרשהו וילףּ‎ 345 (title). (Cf. depart also of inanimate things 3 supr.) e. in longer series: pb) nas) 35) ז‎ a9)75 וישב‎ . . . DN IV YON 2 K 19% = Is 377; ef. Nu 24° (JE); 8292" ויקם‎ Juz”; also DP 73%) ויבא‎ 2 [6 ro’ | ₪ oft. in Imv. foll. by 2nd Imv. or equiv., (1) לףּ קחדלי‎ Gn 2738 (J) go, bring me (them), cf. 110 17; לבו רע‎ Gn 207 (J) go, feed (them), cf. 37" 427 Ex 4" +(in all 6. 57 t.; only JED in Hex); but also (2) weakened to mere introductory word (as also supr. passim: esp. 2 K 37 etc.), go to, or come, do (let us do) so & so; NI AMI nap Gn 31" come, let us make a compact, cf. nad נשָקֶה‎ 19” (where subj. fem.); 7133) לבו‎ 189° come, and let us go, so ,"ל‎ 11% 18 25111 4°, ef. Zc 67+; even בא ְאֶשָלְחָה‎ 3b 2K 5° go to, come, and let me send, cf. Is 22° 26” Ez Bells further Jurg™* 1S 9° 1K 1” ץ‎ 34°4+(in all 6.49 t.; only JE in Hex). (3) apparently intermediate, and shewing transition fr. (1) to (2) are: a9) Ex 10% 32’ cf. ג‎ 18"; 1D לבו‎ רֶרו‎ + ₪ 18% TD Ney לף‎ Ex לבו 1970 ;ב‎ PIND Jos 18° & AYW לכו באו‎ Gn 47 cf. 1 8 22° 1K 1% 2 16 7°; v. further 7228 לַכְנָה‎ Ru 1° & app) שַבְנָה‎ vy”; also 2S 3% ד‎ K 19%? + (in 811 6. 30 5.( > II. Fig.; the most common uses follow; in most the origin in a literal meaning is evident: +1. pass away, die; in phrases denoting or implying death (cf. Ar. als perish); כָּלהָאָרֶץ‎ TTB MT אכ הולף‎ TaN away childless, but possibly sub 2 ve 28 12% [ am going הלף)‎ 8) to him 7: so of mankind 82 7} דור הלף‎ Ec 1°; more explicitly, אֶלמָקוּם 748 הפל הָיָה‎ Abin הפל‎ שָב אֶלהָעְפָּר‎ ODI “BY 1D 186 3” ef. 6°; also ney הלף‎ nme awe הָאָדֶם ₪ ,"יף בשאוּל‎ Abn עולמי‎ MSO 12% cf. NN) TN DIA ץ‎ 30" before I depart and be not ; so acc. to some 2 Ch iS} DM, 7 2 34 הלך

• From The History of Christian Theology (2008)

  123 Catholic Mystical Theology Lecture 34 We follow up now with a further lecture on Catholic theology in the modern period picking up on the doctrine of grace, which we discussed in our previous lecture. We’re now going to look at the upper reaches, as it were, of the experience of supernatural grace in Catholic theology. C atholic mystical theology is concerned with the higher stages of the supernatural life. It should not be confused with much later academic theories of mysticism, which are not speci¿ cally Christian or theological. It is called mystical theology, not mysticism, because it belongs to a tradition of reÀ ection derived from the Mystical Theology by Pseudo- Dionysius (Saint Denys, as he was known in the West). He calls this treatise Mystical Theology because it concerns what is unknown and essentially hidden from us. Catholic mystical theology, therefore, concerns states of the soul in which it is supernaturally elevated beyond its own powers or faculties. The most important representatives of Catholic mystical theology are the Spanish mystics of the 16 th century, Saint Teresa of Avila and Saint John of the Cross. Teresa provides the classic form and vocabulary for mystical theology. In Teresa’s mystical theology, the consciousness of God comes to us by grace, not through our own effort. For Teresa, the inward ¿ nding of God is not an act of understanding or intellectual vision but a prayer of love. Teresa combines mystical theology with an Augustinian inward turn. Like Augustine, she describes the soul as an inner space, an interior castle, a sort of inner building of the soul, which one must enter to ¿ nd God. For both Augustine and Teresa, the essence of prayer is desire for God. The most important representatives of Catholic mystical theology are the Spanish mystics of the 16 th century, Saint Teresa of Avila and Saint John of the Cross.

• From Get Out of Your Head: Stopping the Cycle of Anxious Thoughts (2020)

  Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.15 Now, it’s easy to look at that litany of the works of the flesh and give ourselves a broad-brush pass. Because I don’t tend to be tempted by sorcery or drunken orgies, I let myself off the hook regarding my own works of the flesh: my beloved Netflix, the fits of anger my kids seem to provoke in me, and the division between God and me I allowed for a year and a half. How much I needed His presence. I need it still now. Why? Because even my best day pales in comparison with the reality He says I can live. And the same goes for you. Because the fruit of the Spirit is our new way of being, Paul says we can be people who love—not just once in a while, but intentionally. He says we can be joyous people. We can be people of kindness and patience and peace. He says we can be good. Not to get some cosmic check mark but simply because our Father is good. He says we can be faithful. We don’t have to waver in our faith. Man, do I wish I could have stayed connected to this truth a year and a half ago. By God’s grace I’ll stay connected to it now. He says we can be gentle and self-controlled. But if you and I are to live this not just as a possibility but as an everyday, every-moment reality, we need to walk by the Spirit, not be jerked around by our swirling chaotic thoughts. In other words, we urgently need time in the presence of God. “Father,” we can say to Him, “help me see things not as they seem to me but as they truly are. ” What Are You Really Thinking? When a group of us were talking about choosing time with God over our distractions, my friend Caroline, who is a senior at a nearby college, said to me, “Jennie, I know I am supposed to be thinking about God instead of all this chaos and clutter. One question: What do you think about whenever you think about God?” I sat back, stunned by how the youngest woman in the room had just cut to the real question. You can’t simply slap a cute cliché on this huge issue of thinking about God. If this is ultimately a call to dwell with Christ, then how do we practically get that done?

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  You really will?’ ‘Oh, certainly,’ I said; yet when she reappeared, five minutes later, I had not budged an inch. She gazed at me, and shook her head. I gazed back at her. ‘You know, don’t you, that you cannot stay here. I must go to work, and I must go now. If you keep me any longer, I shall be late.’ With that, she caught hold of the bottom of the blanket. But I caught hold of the top. ‘I can’t do it,’ I said. ‘I must be sick, after all.’ ‘If you’re sick, you must go to a place where they will care for you properly!’ ‘I’m not that sick!’ I cried then. ‘But if I might only lie a little and get my strength... Go on to work, and I’ll let myself out, and be long gone by the time you get home. You may trust me in your house, you know. I shan’t take anything.’ ‘There’s little enough to take!’ she cried. Then she threw her end of the blanket at me, and put a hand to her brow. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘how my head aches!’ I looked at her, saying nothing. At last she seemed to force herself into a kind of calmness, and her voice grew stiff: ‘You must do as you said, I suppose, and let yourself out.’ She caught up her coat from the back of the door, and pulled it on. Then she took up her satchel, reached into it, and brought out a piece of paper and a coin. ‘I’ve made you a list,’ she said, ‘of hostels and houses you might try to find a bed in. The money’- it was a half-crown - ‘is from my brother. He asked me to tell you good-bye and good luck.’ ‘He’s a very kind man,’ I said. She shrugged, then buttoned up her coat, put her hat upon her head, and thrust a pin through it. The coat and the hat were the colour of mud. She said, ‘There’s a piece of bacon still warm in the kitchen, which you may as well have for your breakfast. Then - oh! then you really must go.’ ‘I promise I will!’ She nodded, and pulled at the door. There came a blast of icy air from the street outside that made me shiver. Florence shivered, too. The wind blew the brim of her hat away from her brow, and she narrowed her hazel eyes against it, and tightened her jaw. I said, ‘Miss Banner! I - might I come back, sometime, on a visit? I should like - I should like to see your brother, and thank him...’ I should like to see her, was what I meant. I had come to make a friend of her. But I didn’t know how to say it.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  She gave me a wink: ‘Let’s call on Tony.’ I followed her to his little room, and sat and idly twisted in the chair behind his desk, while he stood with his arm about her waist. There was a bit of chat about Mr Sutherland and his spotted handkerchief; then, ‘What about that Kitty Butler, eh?’ said Tony. ‘Ain’t she a smasher? If she carries on tickling the crowd like she did tonight, I tell you, Uncle’ll be extending her contract till Christmas.’At that I stopped my twirling. ‘She’s the best turn I ever saw,’ I said, ‘here or anywhere! Tricky would be a fool to let her go: you tell him from me.’ Tony laughed, and said he would be sure to; but as he said it I saw him wink at Alice, then let his gaze dally, rather spoonily, over her lovely face.I looked away, and sighed, and said quite guilelessly: ‘Oh, I do wish that I might see Miss Butler again!’‘And so you shall,’ said Alice, ‘on Saturday.’ We had all planned to come to the Palace - Father, Mother, Davy, Fred, everyone - on Saturday night. I plucked at my glove.‘I know,’ I said. ‘But Saturday seems so very far away ...’Tony laughed again. ‘Well, Nance, and who said you had to wait so long? You can come tomorrow night if you like - and any other night you please, so far as I’m concerned. And if there ain’t a seat for you in the gallery, why, we’ll put you in a box at the side of the stage, and you can gaze at Miss Butler to your heart’s content from there!’He spoke, I’m sure, to impress my sister; but my heart gave a strange kind of twist at his words. I said, ‘Oh, Tony, do you really mean it?’‘Of course.’‘And really in a box?’‘Why not? Between you and me, the only customers we ever get for those seats are the Wood family and the Plushes.

• From Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance (1995)

  I told him that I’d never been to Texas and so hadn’t had the opportunity to meet his nephew. This seemed to disappoint him, and he took several puffs from his cigarette in quick succession. By this time, the last of the other passengers on my flight had left the terminal. I asked the guard if any more bags were coming. He shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t think so,” he said, “but if you will just wait here, I will find someone who can help you.” He disappeared around a narrow corridor, and I stood up to stretch my back. The rush of anticipation had drained away, and I smiled with the memory of the homecoming I had once imagined for myself, clouds lifting, old demons fleeing, the earth trembling as ancestors rose up in celebration. Instead I felt tired and abandoned. I was about to search for a telephone when the security guard reappeared with a strikingly beautiful woman, dark, slender, close to six feet tall, dressed in a British Airways uniform. She introduced herself as Miss Omoro and explained that my bag had probably been sent on to Johannesburg by mistake. “I’m awfully sorry about the inconvenience,” she said. “If you will just fill out this form, we can call Johannesburg and have it delivered to you as soon as the next flight comes in.” I completed the form and Miss Omoro gave it the once-over before looking back at me. “You wouldn’t be related to Dr. Obama, by any chance?” she asked. “Well, yes—he was my father.” Miss Omoro smiled sympathetically. “I’m very sorry about his passing. Your father was a close friend of my family’s. He would often come to our house when I was a child.” We began to talk about my visit, and she told me of her studies in London, as well as her interest in traveling to the States. I found myself trying to prolong the conversation, encouraged less by Miss Omoro’s beauty—she had mentioned a fiancé—than by the fact that she’d recognized my name. That had never happened before, I realized; not in Hawaii, not in Indonesia, not in L.A. or New York or Chicago. For the first time in my life, I felt the comfort, the firmness of identity that a name might provide, how it could carry an entire history in other people’s memories, so that they might nod and say knowingly, “Oh, you are so and so’s son.” No one here in Kenya would ask how to spell my name, or mangle it with an unfamiliar tongue. My name belonged and so I belonged, drawn into a web of relationships, alliances, and grudges that I did not yet understand.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Urged on by Kitty - for she had grown suddenly gallant about letting me go - I took my chance. I wrote to Mother and told her that, if I was still welcome, I should be home the following day - that was Sunday - and would stay till Wednesday night. Then I went shopping, to buy presents for the family: there was something thrilling after all, I found, about the idea of returning to Whitstable after so long, with a parcel of gifts from London ... Even so, it was hard to part from Kitty. ‘You will be all right?’ I said to her. ‘You won’t be lonely here?’ ‘I shall be horribly lonely. I expect you will come back and find me dead from loneliness!’ ‘Why don’t you come with me? We might catch a later train -’ ‘No, Nan; you should see your family without me.’ ‘I shall think about you every minute.’ ‘And I shall think of you ...’ ‘Oh, Kitty ...’ She had been tapping at her tooth with the pearl of her necklace; when I put my mouth upon hers I felt it, cold and smooth and hard, between our lips. She let me kiss her, then moved her head so that our cheeks touched; then she put her arms about my waist and held me to her rather fiercely - quite as if she loved me more than anything. Whitstable, when I drew into it later that morning, seemed very changed - very small and grey, and with a sea that was wider, and a sky that was lower and less blue, than I remembered. I leaned from the carriage window to gaze at it all, and so saw Father and Davy, at the station, a moment or two before they saw me. Even they looked different - I felt a rush of aching love and strange regret, to think it - Father a little older, a little shrunken, somehow; Davy slightly stouter, and redder in the face. When they saw me, stepping from the train on to the platform, they came running. ‘Nance! My dearest girl ... !’ This was Father. We embraced - awkwardly, for I had all my parcels with me, and a hat upon my head with a veil around it. One of the parcels fell to the ground and he bent to retrieve it, then hurried to help me with the others. Davy, meanwhile, took my hand, then kissed my cheek through the mesh of my veil. ‘Just look at you,’ he said. ‘All dressed up to the ninety-nines ! Quite the lady, ain’t she, Pa?’ His cheek grew redder than ever.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  A little fair-haired girl had appeared on the balcony beside him, and now gripped the rail and put her feet upon the bars. I said, ‘Where does the lady live - the sister they’ve gone to?’ and he pulled at his ear and looked thoughtful.‘Now, I did know, but have forgotten it ... I believe it was Bristol; or it may have been Bath...’‘Not London, then?’‘Oh no, certainly not London. Now, was it Brighton ... ?’I turned away from him, to gaze back up at Mrs Milne’s house - at the window of my old room, and at the balcony where I had liked, in summer-time, to sit. When I looked at the man again, he had his little girl in his arms, and the wind had caught her golden hair and made it flap about his cheeks: and I remembered them both, then, as the father and daughter that I had seen clapping their hands to the sound of a mandolin, on that balmy June evening, in the week I met Diana. They had lost their home and been given a new one. They had been visited by that charity-visitor with the romantic-sounding name.Florence! I did not know that I had remembered her. I had not thought of her at all, for a year and more.If only I might meet her, now! She found houses for the poor; she might find a house for me. She had been kind to me once - wouldn’t she be kind, if I appealed to her, a second time? I thought of her comely face, and her curling hair. I had lost Diana, I had lost Zena; and now I had lost Mrs Milne and Grace. In all of London she was the closest thing I had, at that moment, to a friend - and it was a friend just then that, above all else, I longed for.On the balcony above me, the man had turned away. Now I called him back: ‘Hey, mister!’ I walked closer to the wall of the tenement, and gazed up at him: he and his daughter leaned from the balcony rail - she looked like an angel on the ceiling of a church. I said, ‘You won’t know me; but I lived here once, with Mrs Milne. I am looking for a girl, who called on you when you moved in. She worked for the people that found you your flat.’He frowned. ‘A girl, you say?’‘A girl with curly hair. A plain-faced girl called Florence. Don’t you know who I mean? Don’t you have the name of the charity she worked for? It was run by a lady - a very clever-looking lady. The lady played the mandolin.’He had continued to frown, and to scratch at his head; but at this last detail he brightened. ‘That one,’ he said; ‘yes, I remember her.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  Very gently - but quite matter-of-factly - she moved her hand to my wrist, pulled my arm above the bedclothes, and ducked her head beneath it to place her temple against my collar-bone, my arm about her neck. The hand that dangled before her throat she squeezed, and held. Her cheek, against my shallow breast, felt hotter than a flat-iron.‘How your heart beats!’ she said - and at that, of course, it beat faster. She sighed again - this time her mouth was at the opening of my nightgown, and I felt her breath upon the naked skin beneath - she sighed and said, ‘So many times I lay in that dull room at Mrs Pugh’s and thought of you and Alice in your little bed beside the sea. Was it just like this, being with her?’I didn’t answer her. I, too, was thinking back to that little bed. How hard it had been, having to lie next to slumbering Alice, my heart and my head all filled with Kitty. How much harder would it be to have Kitty herself beside me, so close and so unknowing! It would be a torture. I thought: I shall pack my trunk tomorrow. I shall get up very early and catch the first train back ...Kitty spoke on, not minding my silence. ‘You and Alice,’ she was saying again. ‘Do you know, Nan, how jealous I was ... ?’I swallowed. ‘Jealous?’ The word sounded terrible in the darkness.‘Yes, I -’ She seemed to hesitate; then, ‘You see,’ she went on, ‘I never had a sister like other girls did...’ She let go of my hand, and placed her arm over my middle, curling her fingers around the hollow of my waist. ‘But we’re like sisters now, aren’t we Nan? You’ll be a sister to me - won’t you?’I patted her shoulder stiffly. Then I turned my face away - quite dazed, with mixed relief and disappointment. I said, ‘Oh yes, Kitty,’ and she squeezed me tighter.Then she slept, and her head and arm grew slack and heavy.I, however, lay awake - just as I had used to lie at Alice’s side. But now I did not dream; I only spoke to myself rather sternly.I knew that I would not, after all, pack my bags in the morning and bid Kitty farewell; I knew that, having come so far, I could not. But if I were to stay with her, then it must be as she said; I must learn to swallow my queer and inconvenient lusts, and call her ‘sister’. For to be Kitty’s sister was better than to be Kitty’s nothing, Kitty’s no one. And if my head and my heart - and the hot, squirming centre of me - cried out at the shame of it, then I must stifle them.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  The dinner-table was all covered with the paraphernalia of the woman’s trade - with folded garments and tissue wrappers, with pins and cotton reels and needles. The needles, she said, were always dropping on the floor, and the children were always stepping on them; her baby had recently put a pin in his mouth, and the pin had stuck in his palate and almost choked him.I listened to her story, and then watched while Florence spoke to her about the Women’s Guild, and about the seamstresses’ union it had established. Would she come to a meeting? Florence asked. The woman shook her head, and said she didn’t have the time; that she had no one to mind the children; that she was frightened that the masters at the outfitters for whom she worked would hear about it, and stop her shillings.‘Besides that, miss,’ she said at last, ‘my husband wouldn’t care for me to go. Not but what he ain’t a union man himself; but he don’t think much of women having a say in all that stuff. He says there ain’t the need for it.’‘But what do you think, Mrs Fryer? Don’t you think the women’s union a good thing? Wouldn’t you like to see things changed - see the masters made to pay you more, and work you kinder?’ Mrs Fryer rubbed her eyes.‘They would drop me, miss, that’s all, and find a gal to do it cheaper. There are plenty of ’em - plenty gals what envy me even my poor few shillings...’The discussion went on, until at last the woman grew fidgety, and said she thanked us, but couldn’t spare the time to hear us any longer. Florence shrugged. ‘Think on it a bit, won’t you? I’ve told you when the meeting is. Bring your babies if you like - we’ll find someone to take care of ’em for an hour or two.’ We rose; I looked again at the table, at the pile of reels and garments. There was a waistcoat, a set of handkerchiefs, some gentlemen’s linen — I found myself drifting towards it all, with fingers that itched to pick the garments up and stroke them. I caught the woman’s eye, and nodded at the table-top.I said, ‘What is it you do exactly, Mrs Fryer? Some of these look very fine.’‘I’m an embroid’rer, miss,’ she answered. ‘I does the fancy letters.’ She lifted a shirt, and showed me its pocket: there was a flowery monogram upon it, sewn very neatly in ivory silk. ‘It looks a bit queer, don’t it,’ she went on sadly, ‘seeing all these scraps of handsomeness in this poor room...’‘It does,’ I said - but I could hardly get the words out. The pretty monogram had reminded me suddenly of Felicity Place, and all the lovely suits that I had worn there.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  I was only tidy, and clean.Well, I think I was never quite so tidy, after that night. I certainly never beat the dirt from Lilian’s gaudy rug again - but smiled when people stepped on it, and took a dreadful pleasure in watching its colours grow dim.But then I would imagine Lilian in paradise, weaving more carpets so that Florence might one day come and sit on them and rest her head against her knee. I imagined her stocking up the bookshelves with essays and poems, so that she and Florence might walk, side by side, reading together. I saw her preparing a stove in some small back kitchen in heaven, so that I should have somewhere to stew the oysters while she and Flo held hands.I began to look at Florence’s hands — I had never done such a thing before - and imagine all the occupations I would have set them to, had I been in Lilian’s place...Again, I couldn’t help it. I had persuaded myself that Florence was a kind of saint, with a saint’s dimmed, unguessable limbs and warmths and wantings; but now, in telling me the story of her own great love, it was as if she had suddenly shown herself to me, robeless. And I could not tear my eyes from what I saw.One night, for example - one dark night, quite late, when Ralph was out with his union friends and Cyril was quiet upstairs - she bathed and washed her hair, then sat in the parlour with her dressing-gown about her, and fell asleep. I had helped her tip her tub of soapy water down the privy, then gone to warm some milk for us to drink; and when I returned with the mugs, I found her slumbering there, before the fire. She was sitting, slightly twisted, and her head had fallen back, and her arms were slack and heavy, and her hands were loose and vaguely folded in her lap. Her breaths were deep, and almost snores.I stood before her, holding the steaming mugs. She had taken the towel from her head, and her hair was spread out over the bit of lace on the back of her chair, like the halo on a Flemish madonna. I did not think that I had ever seen her hair so full and loose before, and I studied it now for a long time. I remembered when I had thought it was a dreary auburn; but it was not auburn, there were a thousand tints of gold and brown and copper in it.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  He pulled a face. ‘Pooh, Nancy, the real thing not good enough for you any more?’Father leaned towards him. ‘Well, we are told it is Kitty Butler,’ he said. ‘If you ask me’ - and here he winked and rubbed his nose - ‘I think there’s a young chap in the orchestra pit what she’s got her eye on ...’‘Ah,’ said Joe, significantly. ‘Let’s hope poor Frederick don’t catch on to it, then ...’At that, everybody looked my way, and I blushed - and so seemed, I suppose, to prove my father’s words. Davy snorted; Mother, who had frowned before, now smiled. I let her - I let them all think just what they liked - and said nothing; and soon, as before, the talk turned to other matters.I could deceive my parents and my brother with my silences; from my sister Alice, however, I could keep nothing.‘Is there a feller you’ve got your eye on, at the Palace?’ she asked me later, when the rest of the house lay hushed and sleeping.‘Of course not,’ I said quietly.‘It’s just Miss Butler, then, that you go to see?’‘Yes.’There was a silence, broken only by the distant rumble of wheels and faint thud of hooves, from the High Street, and the even fainter sucking whoosh of sea against shingle from the bay. We had put out our candle but left the window wide and unshuttered. I saw in the gleam of starlight that Alice’s eyes were open. She was gazing at me with an ambiguous expression that seemed half amusement, half distaste.‘You’re rather keen on her, ain’t you?’ she said then.I looked away, and didn’t answer her at once. When I spoke at last it was not to her at all, but to the darkness.‘When I see her,’ I said, ‘it’s like - I don’t know what it’s like. It’s like I never saw anything at all before. It’s like I am filling up, like a wine-glass when it’s filled with wine. I watch the acts before her and they are like nothing - they’re like dust. Then she walks on the stage and - she is so pretty; and her suit is so nice; and her voice is so sweet ... She makes me want to smile and weep, at once. She makes me sore, here.’ I placed a hand upon my chest, upon the breast-bone. ‘I never saw a girl like her before. I never knew that there were girls like her ...’ My voice became a trembling whisper then, and I found that I could say no more.There was another silence.

• From Tipping the Velvet (1998)

  But the theatre had had to be evacuated, and there had been problems with the exits; afterwards an inspector came, looked at the building, and said a new escape door must be added. He closed the theatre while the work was done: tickets were returned, apologies pasted up; and for a whole half-week we found ourselves on holiday.Urged on by Kitty - for she had grown suddenly gallant about letting me go - I took my chance. I wrote to Mother and told her that, if I was still welcome, I should be home the following day - that was Sunday - and would stay till Wednesday night. Then I went shopping, to buy presents for the family: there was something thrilling after all, I found, about the idea of returning to Whitstable after so long, with a parcel of gifts from London ...Even so, it was hard to part from Kitty.‘You will be all right?’ I said to her. ‘You won’t be lonely here?’‘I shall be horribly lonely. I expect you will come back and find me dead from loneliness!’‘Why don’t you come with me? We might catch a later train -’‘No, Nan; you should see your family without me.’‘I shall think about you every minute.’‘And I shall think of you ...’‘Oh, Kitty ...’She had been tapping at her tooth with the pearl of her necklace; when I put my mouth upon hers I felt it, cold and smooth and hard, between our lips. She let me kiss her, then moved her head so that our cheeks touched; then she put her arms about my waist and held me to her rather fiercely - quite as if she loved me more than anything. Whitstable, when I drew into it later that morning, seemed very changed - very small and grey, and with a sea that was wider, and a sky that was lower and less blue, than I remembered. I leaned from the carriage window to gaze at it all, and so saw Father and Davy, at the station, a moment or two before they saw me. Even they looked different - I felt a rush of aching love and strange regret, to think it - Father a little older, a little shrunken, somehow; Davy slightly stouter, and redder in the face.When they saw me, stepping from the train on to the platform, they came running.‘Nance! My dearest girl ... !’ This was Father. We embraced - awkwardly, for I had all my parcels with me, and a hat upon my head with a veil around it. One of the parcels fell to the ground and he bent to retrieve it, then hurried to help me with the others. Davy, meanwhile, took my hand, then kissed my cheek through the mesh of my veil.‘Just look at you,’ he said. ‘All dressed up to the ninety-nines !

• From The Four Vision Quests of Jesus (2015)

  Did you recognize it as a vision right away or did you have to grow into it? What images helped you? What words did you hear in a holy voice? What colors were there? What living creatures shared in your experience? How did you carry the vision with you? There are a thousand questions I would like to ask you. And there are a thousand ways you can answer as you tell me about your vision, about what it has meant, about how it has changed your life. And I believe, although the world may have always known you by a single name, the truth is you have been given many names. You have changed, been changed, and emerged from the dreamtime of vision to discover yourself anew. I want to be spiritually bold enough in this book to claim this territory of integrity for all of us who have received a vision in our lives. I want to do so to stake out our space, our story, in the realm of the religious. I do not do this only for any group of us, but for all of us, whether we are Christian or not, whether we are Native or not, whether we are religious or not. I believe there are no fences we can build around the vision of God to contain it or explain it. Instead, I think vision is a wild truth. It appears as it will to whomever it will. It arises in many different forms to many different people of many different walks of life. It has come to you, to me, and to countless others through the centuries. Vision is not a private club for the initiated few, but a wide spiritual sea on which any person may sail. You and I discovered that fact, and we are not alone. Many others were alongside us, even if we could not see them, or hear their story, or understand their experience. Like ships passing in the night, we may have missed many chances to realize just how full of mystery our lives are. We may have felt hindered by our own cultural and religious training from sending out signals into that night, openly sharing our own visions with others for fear of rejection. Therefore, we have sailed alone and we have sailed in silence. That is something we must change. Vine Deloria was right when he said that a story like Black Elk Speaks would be like water in a desert. He described our historical period very accurately. We do live in a time when vision is few and far between, not because vision has disappeared from our lives, but because we have been conditioned not to embrace it or speak of it. We have entered the silence of the cultural void that Vine describes, an age where celebrity passes for the heroic and the constant sensations flashed before us on screens fail to reach any deeper in us than entertainment.